


That's just how we met

by CedroContento



Category: The Boys (TV 2019)
Genre: F/M, Falling In Love, Hostage Situations, Romantic Comedy, Russian Mafia, What if?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:00:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27723167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CedroContento/pseuds/CedroContento
Summary: Rebecca is a promising marketing trainee who one day, as sometimes happens, is in the wrong place at the wrong time. She will find herself meddled in settling accounts between mafia members, but that's exactly how she gets to know William. This fan fic is my very personal vision of how Billy and Becca Butcher met (obviously it doesn't take into account the comic version).
Relationships: Becca Butcher/Billy Butcher
Kudos: 2





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for any mistakes, correct me should you find any, the original story is written (always by me) in Italian and I used a translator to translate it into English as my is not that good.  
> You can find the link to the story in the original language at the bottom of the author's notes.

Prologue

  
“So, Miss Saunders, once again” says the agent from behind his desk, looking again for the first page in the stack of papers in front of him.  
“Yet?! But I've already told you everything twice!” I snort in frustration. I've been at the station for hours after the worst four days of my life.  
“Yes, but I want the report to be accurate” he says fussy, beating his index finger on the documents. “We said, name ... Rebecca Saunders I know this” answers himself. “Why did you know Yuriy Kucklenko?” he asks me for the third time.  
“I told you I didn't, I was there for the shoes” I sigh, letting myself fall heavily on the back of the chair.  
“Oh yes, the Nike shoes for the internship, specialized in…” scrolls the sheets.  
“Marketing & Brand Management” I finish for him.  
“But why a Russian mafia boss wanted his shoe line remains a mystery” the policeman shakes his head.  
“Because he was a fucking narcissist that's why” comments a deep voice behind me. I sigh once again, but harder to make me hear good, even without turning around I know he's smiling; he loves teasing me.  
“Does he really have to stay here?” I ask agent Milk.  
“Let's say that, unfortunately, nothing prevents him from doing that” he replies sincerely annoyed, without raising his head, while noting yet another detail “How many you said the kidnappers were?” he then asks me with a frown.  
“Four ... with him” I say, nodding my head towards the unwanted presence.  
“Come on Marvin give us respite, you know everything you need, we go” decides William Butcher, I turn to look at him annoyed.  
“We?! There is no us _Rick_. I'm going home and I never want to see you again!” I tell him sour, I pick up my bag and start to take the door, he blocks my way, I want to slap him to take that impertinent smile off his face.  
“Are you already tired of me Becca?” he asks me an inch from my face, I hold his gaze.  
“I'm not afraid of you anymore Billy” I whisper to him, with the only result that he smiles at me even more.  
“And what about the other thing?” the bastard asks me.  
  
  



	2. Day 1

Day 1  


Four days ago, ... four days ago I'm in the car. “Hey you always on the run gotta slow it down baby gotta have some fun” (1) I still hum, but I already had to turn off the radio because I arrived at the gate of the huge villa, candidly unaware of what I'm going to get involved in.  
If a client, a wealthy entrepreneur, decides on a Saturday afternoon that he wants to see where the project for the advertising campaign of his shoes, guess who has to drive three hours one way out of town to bring him the portfolio? That's right the intern.  
Patience, this internship nightmare is almost over. As I try to hide the remains of my Burger King lunch under the seat, I notice the numerous cameras scattered across the gate and surrounding wall, this guy is a security freak.  
I sound on the video intercom. “I'm Rebecca Saunders, from Nike” I say looking at the black lens of the video intercom. No one answers but shortly after the gate silently opens onto the immense driveway. I park my small and battered utility car near the entrance, in that dream villa it looks completely out of place, faded and peeling as it is. A tall, light-haired thug comes towards me.  
“Miss Saunders, good morning, if you want to follow me ...” welcomes me with a strong Russian accent.  
He leads me up the entrance steps, through the elegant atrium to the back of the house, where there is predictably a crystal-clear swimming pool. On the porch, at a large wrought iron garden table, I recognize Yuriy Kucklenko, a lean and sporty man who looks much younger than his 67 years.  
“Hello Rebecca, Caroline warned me she would send you! I was expecting you, I see you have what I wanted, great. Have you had lunch; can I bring you something?” he tells me polite but authoritative, with an impeccable speech that does not betray his origins at all, if I hadn't known I would never have guessed that he is Russian.  
“No thanks, I'm fine, I'll leave the project and take the trouble away” I reply a little in awe. Caroline was very clear, leave the portfolio and leave, I don't have to do anything else. But even if Kucklenko knew the orders of my very dictatorial boss, he wouldn't give a damn.  
“Then I'll have you bring a smoothie, some vitamins will do you good, you don't have a nice color” he insists, making me blush uncomfortably.  
Reluctantly I obey his invitation to sit with him, in reality I don't think I have much choice. I drink the smoothie that arrives about two seconds later, while smiling politely.  
Looking discreetly around I notice that there are at least three other men, double of the one who accompanied me up there, they look like bodyguards, probably they are I tell myself.  
Meanwhile, Kucklenko comments on the project of the advertising campaign without really waiting for my answer, unaware of the fact that those in there are mostly my ideas.  
Soon the fruit juice, mixed with the XXL cola I drank during the trip, puts a strain on my bladder. I know it's not very professional, if she knew Caroline would most likely kill me, but even the alternative of getting it on doesn't seem ideal.  
“Excuse me, Mr. Kucklenko, I would need to use the bathroom if you don't mind” I decide to ask.  
Kucklenko barely looks up from the file.  
“Yes, of course, the guest bathroom is immediately on the first floor. Miroslav” makes a dry nod to the blond and he snaps towards me. More than making my way, I have the feeling that Miroslav is rather silently escorting me as I climb the very elegant staircase of glittering pink marble, covered with a beautiful emerald carpet, so immaculate that I almost regret stepping on it.  
I immediately find the bathroom, needless to say that it is gorgeous like everything else. I let the sink water run while I do what I have to, uncomfortable knowing the big Russian man waiting for me right outside the door.  
From below all of a sudden come loud noises of shots and excited screams, surely they have a dolby surround system worthy of the name, if I hear all that noise from there I wonder what they hear in the living room, better they turn down the volume if they don't want to break their eardrums. I hope Kucklenko is the one intent on watching a movie, that would mean he's finished reviewing the project so I can finally escape. But suddenly the noise moves to the first floor and I realize that what I hear is not a television at all.  
I have never heard the sound of a shotgun live, I have always heard it described as a strong metallic burst, just what I seem to recognize now. A thud on the door.  
I stare at it in dismay from inside the toilet, and I seem to be able to see Miroslav's body fall lifeless, riddled by the blows. As if in a trance I approach the door. That's not true, it's not happening, these things happen in Hollywood, not to real people.  
I rest my head on the lacquered wood of the door trying to pick up external noises, my hand on the golden knob. Silence.  
I wonder if I should dare to open the door. In hindsight I never should have done that, I should have crouched there and waited for everyone to leave.  
I open it and, on my feet, as I imagined, the corpse of the bodyguard falls, eyes empty, a huge scarlet pool spreads out under him and now even on my shoes, he still holds his gun in his hand.  
I put my hands to my mouth too late, an uncontrolled scream has already betrayed my presence. I hear the thunder of fast footsteps on the landing, but I have the mindfulness to close the door on the fly, I see just out of the corner of my eye an armed man running towards me. Luckily for me he doesn't open fire.  
I stare at the door; afraid I try to breathe as I feel a panic attack building.  
“Who the fuck is that?” I hear voices coming from behind the door, they are coming to track me down.  
The bathe is blind, I cannot escape from a window or call for help, as if that were not enough fear paralyzes my every thought. I curse myself for leaving my phone in the bag, which is downstairs, I'm trapped. I curl up in the shower wondering how long it will take for them to break down the door.  
“What happens?” I hear a low, hoarse voice coming from the corridor.  
“There is a woman locked in the bathroom, I don't know who the fuck she is, you said there was no one there” replies a clearer, more nervous voice.  
“Indeed, it is, that bastard's family is in Mauritius. Is she in there? Frenchie open up” says the deep voice again.  
“ _Oui mon capitain_ ” replies a third voice.  
I prepare myself mentally to see the door collapse but a few moments later the lock snaps with a gentle click and opens meekly. From my corner of the shower I see three men, holding Ak 47, a short little guy with a nervous look, one black and one taller with black and disheveled hair, an undone beard, which looks like the leader of the three.  
“She saw us we have to kill her” says the one snorting, the deep voice was his.  
He takes out his Glock and points it in my face.  
They've never pointed a gun at me, in fact I've never actually seen one. I hug even more in the corner unable to escape the threat in any way, my back presses against the very expensive polished marble. In the end I stand up, I tremble like a leaf, but I don't want to die curled up in a shower, in fact I just don't want to die. Nothing comes out of my mouth, not even a plea to make to the man in that hideous Hawaiian shirt who is about to end my existence.  
“But no, come on, we don't need to kill her, she was here by chance, I saw the bag below, who are you ma cherie?” he asks me at one point the one with a strong French accent.  
“But she saw us in the face, what do you want to do we let her go and wait here for them to come and arrest us?” makes him the black man (2) nervous.  
“Well, there is no choice” then adds the tall man as the Frenchman finds no arguments that will save my life.  
If I could get a word out, I would have many arguments, I narrow my eyes hoping to die instantly, praying it won't be painful. I clench my hands to my mouth and can't hold back a sob as my killer hesitates to pull that damn trigger.  
“Rick _he_ wants you on the phone, better not make him wait” a man with reddish hair and slender peeps out the door, raises an eyebrow when he sees the scene, makes no comment, just waves an old Nokia and Hawaiian shirt with calm movements but swiftly lowers the gun.  
“Shut she in in the meantime, we'll think about it later” he steps out onto the landing without deigning anyone to look.  
The Frenchman winks at me while the black guy pushes him towards the corridor too.  
The lock clicks again and I am left alone, trapped in the bathroom. Shaken by tremors I feel unable to move from my corner. I don't know how long I remain standing there, staring at the spot where the three criminals used to be. Eventually I burst into tears without restraint. I almost died and now I'm just here waiting for them to decide how to make me disappear. Shaken by spasms, I just hit the toilet in time to throw up all the contents of my stomach.  


  1. Who recognized them? Stop, Spice Girls 1998.
  2. This was an unfortunate choice, but the man in question is not Marvin Milk.



  
  



	3. Day 2 (First Part)

I spend the night lying in front of the toilet on the memory foam bath mat. None of the attackers came looking for me anymore, I know it's morning only thanks to my wristwatch, luckily for me I remembered to wear it, I often go out without.  
I force myself to crawl to my feet to find my reflection in the giant mirror of the double sink, I look horrible. The eyes red and swollen from the cry of self-pity I indulged in all night and the hair tangled in a frizzy bush, indomitable. I don't know why I wash my face and rummage in the drawers of the bathroom cabinet, looking for a comb or a brush to fix myself, I tell myself that if I try to stay in place I will be stronger, more prepared, more prepared to do myself shoot.  
Someone knocks, I startled and the comb that I found swirls in the air and lands clinking in the sink, I don't even try to catch it, I stare at the door in a trance.  
The lock clicks and barely opens, only a steaming cup appears in midair.  
“I thought you might like a coffee, it's morning” is the French “I also brought pancakes ... they’re not that great, it's one of those ready-made _une merde_ doughs, but if you're hungry ...”  
Not catching any sign of life from me, the man looks out to see if at least I'm alive. He smiles encouragingly as I back away.  
“Don't, don't be afraid Rebecca, we won't do anything to you!”  
“How do you know my name?” I ask in a faint voice.  
“The bag” he explains “You will forgive us but we have rummaged through it, we know you were here by chance don't worry”.  
Instead I worry all right.  
“At the moment we haven't decided what to do, but I convinced Rick to leave you alone,” he continues with a shrug, I can't decide if it's good news, but it doesn't help me feel more relieved or much less calm, who says that guy isn't lying?  
“I'm Frenchie,” introduces himself, abandoning his cup and plate on the ground and taking out a cigarette, then sliding on the floor with his back against the jamb.  
He hands me the package inviting me to get one. I rarely smoke, but at that moment the offer is tempting, Frenchie throws the packet at me when I nod, careful not to invade my safe zone. We smoke in silence for a few minutes.  
“You killed everyone ...” I say, it's not really a question but I need to have that confirmation.  
“What can I say ... gang feuds sometimes end like this,” Frenchie sighs resignedly.  
“Gang feud?” I repeat, perplexed.  
“Yes, there was a small bill to settle, you know how it is ...”  
“No I do not know. And Kucklenko wasn't a mobster,” I protest, but in reality, I don't know anything about him.  
Frenchie bursts out laughing in response “And how do you think he paid for all this?! By investing in shoes?” he asks, chuckling, genuinely amused by my naivety.  
I don't even answer him, but my mind goes back to everything I saw yesterday, and the pieces of the puzzle seem to go back to where they belong.  
All of a sudden more talkative I would like to ask them why they didn't leave after doing what they had to do, but the arrival of a masculine woman with very broad shoulders interrupts us.  
“Frenchie what the fuck are you doing? Do you even start socializing?” she says while with a movement of her head she pushes the black bob hair away from her shoulders, but her tone is not really reproachful.  
She gets a cigarette too and takes her place on the floor in the corridor, from there she stares at me insistently, I look away uneasily. I was standing at a safe distance all the time, but thanks to the bad night I feel my legs starting to give way, Frenchie notices it and invites me once again to eat something. My stomach couldn't take any food but I reach for the cup of coffee.  
“Well?! What are you doing?” yesterday's black man emerges from the top of the stairs and leans over to look at me.  
“You fucking look awful,” he bursts out laughing.  
Point in pride once again I can't keep silent “I would like to see you in my place if I had waited all night to be killed!” I reply not so brilliantly, but it is enough to silence him.  
“Do you eat those?” without waiting for my answer he appropriates the pancakes.  
“Only you Americans can eat this crap,” says Frenchie, twisting his mouth in disgust, making the bobbed woman laugh. “Tomorrow I will make you some plum-cakes you will see that it will be _tout autre histoire_ ”.  
While I am undecided whether to rejoice at the prospect of tomorrow with those subjects, another voice reaches us.  
“Ah, you cunts are here, I'll wait for you downstairs, we have visitors,” says Hawaiian shirt, the man I guessed was Rick.

While the others get up, he gives me a penetrating look that passes me from side to side. All the courage I gathered by spending those few minutes with the other three members of the gang, convincing myself that they were all in all just people, vanishes in an instant.

“You come too” he decides, but even if I wanted to, I would not be able to obey his request, Rick literally paralyzes me with fear, he looks fierce.

When he sees that I'm not moving he snorts soundly annoyed “India”.

The girl from the group stayed behind to enjoy the scene, following what I am sure to be their leader by now, she loads me on my shoulder and carries me without difficulty to the living room.

There she places me less gently on the ground. I lose my balance when she puts me down and I end up with my butt on the soft and very expensive white wool carpet which, I do not miss, is stained with red.

Amused India laughs in derision, but reaches out a hand to help me get back on my feet. I look around, if in that living room the gang has gathered together, I count five: Frenchie, the black man, India, the blond guy and Rick.

“So, what do we do? They'll be at the door by now” the blond guy tensely asks to Rick. I wonder if he has heard him intent on staring at me.

“I've come up with an idea” he later declares and I'm sure I won't like that idea at all since he pulls his Glock 19 out of his pants and points it to my throat. “Let's take a walk” he offers me.


	4. Day 2 (Second Part)

Billy ... that is, I meant Rick, because I thought the infamous was called, keeping me at gunpoint, he makes me march through the modern and well-equipped kitchen of the villa, to the back door that overlooks the external gardens of the estate. Just when I'm about to ask myself what his intentions are, he points to the half-windowed door.

Three women in big bubble pink uniforms walk up the driveway towards us, cleaning ladies. That's what their problem was.

My mind applies and I understand what Rick wants to do, he wants to use me to send them away without arousing too many suspicions.

“Be convincing, please” he murmurs persuasively, to me it seems even more threatening.

Without losing sight of me, he clicks the lock and flattens himself against the wall, so that I can see him out of the corner of my eye but the three women don't, if they stay at the right distance. I hope to be able to put all the contempt I feel in the look that I throw at him.

Aware of the fact that not only the life of the three women will depend on my acting skills, but probably mine as well, I try to give myself an attitude while smoothing my hair that surely slips away in every direction. Not at all prepared, I open the door wide, not without throwing a nervous glance at the gun that threatens me.

I remain motionless while the three waitresses look at me between the surprised and the perplexed, and now that I invent myself?

“Good morning…. I'm sorry to have to tell you that you were fired…” I venture.

“What?!” the three of them widen their eyes and I feel they will begin to protest.

“With what right? And who should you be?!” the lowest one asks me peremptorily, making herself the spokesperson for the group.

The trio stares at me waiting, my eye falls on the logo embroidered on the pocket of their uniforms. Of course they don't believe me, it must be a cleaning company. I adjust the shot.

“I'm sorry I expressed myself badly. I meant that your company is no longer the one we want to rely on, so today you won't set foot in this house” the little one starts again to open her mouth but I cut her off before she can.

“And since you want to know, I'm the new assistant. But this isn't your business, am I right?” I say mimicking the tone that Caroline always uses “But I'm definitely not here to answer a cleaning lady's questions. Please leave, we will call you when your services are requested again” I say, continuing the best imitation of my bitchy manager I've ever managed.

Providentially, but certainly not by chance, the blond guy with sunglasses makes his appearance in the garden behind the women.

I notice that he pretends to patrol, like yesterday's bodyguards. He's a little thinner but that's what Miroslav looked like. My heart tightens as I remember the man, who is now dead and his corpse is hidden somewhere, I didn't know him but it affects me. Even the girls notice him and, even if he keeps a distance seemingly indifferent to what happens, his presence hanging over them, and perhaps even a little bit of the Kalashnikov he is holding, convinces the attendants to desist and leave.

With my heart pounding, I watch the group go away with an annoyed air. I want to yell at them to call for help, to wait for me as I rush over to them, but Rick gets between me and the door that closes before I even manage to formulate the unhealthy idea of dashing out.

“Good girl” he says a nothing from my face, I hold my breath very intimidated, still has his weapon in his hand “We are not finished”.

He moves away from the door, but I can't. I saw him lock it and put the deck in his pocket but irrationally I put my hand on the knob and try to open it, obviously the exit remains locked.

Desperate I cling to that knob with all of myself, praying that it opens only with my willpower, I want to get out of there. The minutes pass I lean my forehead against the door, I feel like crying again, I let myself fall to the ground on my knees, my tears won't help me free myself, I know that, but I can't stop them. I sense Rick's presence; he is waiting for me to give myself an attitude.

“Come on, I don't have all day” he urges, I raise my head just enough to see him indicate impatiently with a nod of his head one of the stools at the kitchen counter.

I wipe my tears by telling myself that they will be of no use to me, if not to make me lose my clarity, I gather the minimum of courage I have, I obey and sit down.

Rick sits in front of me and slides my Blackberry across the table.

“Now you call this Rachel and tell her that everything is fine, that you are out of town, let's say you wanted to disconnect for a while, and that you don't know when you will be back” he explains to me strangely calm and accommodating.

I stare at my phone, my sister. She knew perfectly well where I was going and now having no news from me she will be worried, as confirmed by the 11 missed calls and 7 messages. The hope that she called the police dies soon after thinking about it. Even if she did, I haven't been away for 24 hours and if I call her now, maybe she'll calm down and won't investigate further.

Rick dials the number and hands me the phone with a deep warning look don't bullshit syllable at me with his lips, while I bring the phone to my ear.

Don't answer Rachel, don't answer… “Becca! What happened to you? I worried to death, I thought you had an accident! I called the police but they say there weren't any, can I know where you are?!” she scolds me out of breath.

Her familiar voice loosens the knot in my chest and I feel the tears running down my cheeks again, stifling the sound of crying with one hand.

Don't bullshit, in front of me Rick stares at me gravely, with his intense green eyes. I don't know what those people are capable of, maybe just make a call to send one of his people to my house, I don't want to endanger my sister or my entire family.

“Becca, are you there?” Rachel's voice arrives muffled by the speaker that I keep at a distance so as not to be heard while I sniff.

“I'm fine, I'm out of town. I needed to take a break, you know the internship is nerve-wracking, but I'll be back soon ok?” I say fast trying not to betray me.

“Becca but is everything okay?” Rachel asks worried, she knows me too well, she doesn't believe me.

I nod before realizing she can't see me. “Yes. Yes, I'm fine. Rachel listen… I love you…” I can't finish the sentence because Rick snatches my cell phone from my hands and hangs up before I can further compromise myself by bursting into sobbing uncontrollably, which I do.

“This could have been better,” he comments.

I watch him type something, perhaps a text message to explain that the line has fallen.

“Let's have you call tomorrow at work, and in any case, I think it's Sunday” he sighs with an attitude of endurance, I feel the hatred grow for that man.

He still stares at me, I would so much like to escape that look, it makes me uncomfortable as it has never happened in my life, it makes me feel naked and helpless.

For the first time I see him hesitate “Listen, everything will be okay” tries to console me, totally in vain I have to add, before leaving. I felt a hint of insecurity in his voice that I can't interpret, maybe it's because he rarely tries to be nice to someone.


	5. Day 3

“No way!” I explode.  
I'm in the kitchen alone with Frenchie, who passes the time by cooking, when he doesn't disappear in the basement, I don't want to know what is he doing there. By now that has become my safe place, usually there is only him, and of all he is the one that makes me least uncomfortable, or at least does not terrify me, indeed perhaps I begin to like him.  
That was until two minutes ago, when he asked me to go shopping, a bit of shopping, like a happy band of roommates, with Rick.  
The pantry is apparently not that well stocked and the fridge is empty, we certainly can't start ordering a pizza every night, that would mean a massacre of bellboys. They are all wanted, of course, I am the only one who can set foot in a supermarket without problems, but they would never send me alone.  
“Well, why don't you go home then?!” and let me go back to my life, I add mentally.  
Evasive Frenchie doesn't answer me, so I keep going.  
“I’ll never enter in a car with him, rather death” I say firmly. “In fact, if I get in the car with him it is quite likely that he will kill me for real. How do you know he won't kill me and throw me in some ditch?!”  
Frenchie laughs but then becomes serious and I wonder if he is not seriously considering that hypothesis, perhaps he is wondering if I am actually not right.  
“ _Mais non_ , he won't” he then says without much conviction.  
“Why don't you come?”  
Frenchie shakes her head. “Rick is the boss, he decides. Now give me your arm.” I do as he asks thoughtfully, calling me stupid immediately afterwards, when I see that Frenchie is fastening a strange bracelet to my right wrist.  
“What are you doing?” I try to withdraw but it's too late, Frenchie stops me, she is stronger than he seems. He ends up securing that strange combination of electrical tape, velcro and cables.  
“I would move with caution if I were you” he warns me as he hides everything with a scarf. Now he doesn't need to hold my arm anymore because I feel petrified in place as I realize what that stuff is.  
“Frenchie, tell me you haven't just tied a bomb to my wrist”

The traitor looks at me seriously.

“Don't give him reason to blow it up” he funereally recommended.  
I feel my lip starting to tremble, I would like to give myself a demeanor but I can't, Frenchie looks at me with pity and regret, I appeal to that pity.  
“Take it off please” I plead with tears in my eyes, Frenchie shakes his head and starts to answer me but someone else speaks.  
“First we start first we go back” says Rick, putting a baseball cap over his disheveled black hair.  
I shake my head “I'm not going anywhere, it's out of the question. No.”  
  
I've been in the car with Rick for twenty minutes. I look out the window stretched like a violin string, carefully avoiding to let him enter my field of vision and for safety I also keep my arm slightly away from my body, as if in that way I could exorcise the risk of jumping up in the air along with the rest of the my own limb.  
I concentrate with all of myself not to collapse, not in front of him, I don't want to give him this satisfaction. Rick too must feel the tension in the car because he turns on the radio and begins to zap between radio stations.  
“Stop!” I jump up at one-point staring at the radio.  
Rick slows down and looks at me expectantly, questioningly.  
I blush. “I meant the radio” I explain, the radio croaking one of my favorite Spice Girls songs, 2 Become 1, and God only knows if I need it right now.  
“That’s not music, that’s shit, look my ears are starting to bleed” he comments twisting his mouth under his unmade beard, but he doesn't skip the channel and let my song go.  
I rest my head on the seat and close my eyes letting my favorite group give me the strength not to sink into a black hole of terror.  
A few minutes later Rick maneuvers into the huge parking lot of a discount store and turns to look at me. “Try not to shit, I made it clear?! I won't have any problem blowing you up with the whole hut” he warns me.  
I nod, I start to feel my jaw hurt so much I grit my teeth, I try to relax it without much success. Meanwhile, Rick hands me a list, I look at it absently.  
“I don't understand anything that's written there” I tell him so softly that I'm almost amazed he heard me.  
“It's the writing of that French idiot, I know he writes like shit, you take whatever you want” he says briskly, putting in my hand at least a thousand dollars in cash and a transmitter from which a headset hangs.  
“So I'm sure you won't do things you might regret” he says pointing to his ear, making me understand that he wants me to fix the headphones.  
Once everything is sorted out, Rick reaches out to open the door on my side, giving me to understand that he doesn't want to waste too much time.

Carefully I get out of the car and slowly across the parking lot to the shopping cart, I seem to feel Rick's gaze piercing the back of my neck. I try to breathe normally aware that if I betrayed Rick would press the button on the transmitter without thinking twice.

“You can also speed up” the voice of my kidnapper echoes in my ear, I wonder if it is normal to hear something reassuring in his tone, maybe I am developing Stockholm syndrome.

As I wander around the shelves in terror, I feel for the first time in my life too aware of how many innocent people go shopping. For example, why do people bring children? They should leave them at home, safe, the world is full of mad people, like Rick. I hold my breath as I avoid the ward with a pregnant woman, but to do it I pass by a sweet old lady, I'm sure at least ten grandchildren are waiting for her at home.

Once I think I have deciphered the whole list compiled by Frenchie I pay.

The shop assistant in front of me is so young. Wait, me too! Too young to blow up in a store. On the brink of the crisis, I go through the sliding doors and head towards the car.

This time I accelerate my pace, I want to put as much distance as possible between myself and the rest of the customers who are unaware of the drama that has touched them.

“I see you are beginning to understand” Rick welcomes me, appreciating my brisk pace, gets out of the car to help me load the envelopes.

“If you don't take it off, I swear I'll start screaming” pretending a confidence that I don't have, I put my wrist under his nose, hidden by the bulky bracelet stuffed with explosives, I don't want to keep it on for a moment longer.

Rick looks at me for a long time, maybe trying to figure out if I'm serious. He looks at me so deeply that I feel myself shrinking, but I force myself to hold his gaze and not move even a step.

He gives a half smile. “Get in the car” he just says quietly, closes the hood and gets on, without even making sure that I do not implement my threat or that I try to escape, which then with a bomb attached to his arm actually where you want me to go.

I give up and go up in my turn. As soon as I sit down and close the door Rick takes my arm making me jump. He realizes he scared me and smiles, that mocking smile of his, how much I hate him. But I don't tell him because he begins to tinker to free me from the bomb, which is the thing I want most of all at that moment.

He had never touched me before, I can't take my thoughts away from his steady hand in contact with the bare skin of my arm, he holds me with a delicacy that I never expected.

“Done!” announces when he has taken off my bracelet and makes the remote control sway under my nose with a smile that I’m not able to decipher, then throws it all abruptly in the back seat.

I jump up, I almost have a heart attack, but the explosion that I was practically sure would happen does not come, maybe we escaped it by pure luck.

“Are you crazy?! If you have decided to blow yourself up, I couldn't be happier but don't get me involved in your suicidal intent!” I scream, my voice sounds too hysterical even to my own ears.

Rick in response bursts out laughing heartily.

“Relax, I'm not going to blast myself in a discount parking lot either. There is no explosive in that business” he starts to get going but as he looks at me out of the corner of his eye he catches my eye and stops.

I don't know how long I stare at him with wide eyes, but my gaze must be shocked because the laughter dies on his lips and he looks at me for a worried moment. And then I seem to see another emotion pass in his face, I seem to know that emotion but it is out of tune with him, is that a sense of guilt?

“Did you make me believe all the time I had a bomb attached to my arm?!” I scream at him angry black, at that moment I am not afraid, that he will shoot me if he wants.

All the tension that I have accumulated up to now, the paralyzing fear that has gripped my heart all the time in the aisles of the supermarket, as I prayed not to die and make a killing at the same time, comes out.

I feel warm tears starting to run down my cheeks, I had promised myself never to let him see me weak or vulnerable again but I can't help myself, I cry with frustration and I have a great desire to beat him, to seriously hurt him. And I do, I vent that desire.

I begin to randomly hit every part that I find under fire, head, shoulders, chest ... with the only result of hurting my hands, I feel my palms tingling while he doesn't seem to feel my blows. But in the end, he gets impatient and grabs both my wrists, squeezes me tightly, without hurting me.

“Calm down now, you’re attracting attention” and it's true some passersby peek into the car attracted by my scene, but I couldn’t care less.

Unexpectedly Rick pulls me to him, I find myself hugging him, my face pressed to his chest, left uncovered by one of his ugly shirts. I inhale the scent of his skin for the first time and once again it seems so reassuring. Yes, it must be Stockholm syndrome.

“Police is passing by, don't you dare to move, I don't need a bomb to eliminate you” I hear his voice echoing under my ear, as I try to push him away, terrified again, I believe without any problems that he could take my head off with bare hands.

“They come closer ...” Rick leans over me and I don't even have time to realize what is happening that he's kissing me. Rick is kissing me… what a son of a bitch!

I am totally confused and downright angry. I was already expecting that he would break my neck by turning my head suddenly, as you always see doing in movies.

I still try to free myself but, in his arms, which envelop me delicate only in appearance, I cannot move an inch.

Now more than scared I feel annoyed, I realize that maybe he has been making fun of me all the time, I want to make him pay, I open my lips leant on his just to bite him, but that doesn't seem to work either. I feel his lips, still on mine, curl into a smile as he takes advantage of the fact that I had to open my mouth to put his tongue in.

But perhaps the staging gets out of hand, he begins to caress my lips with his, he tastes me, first delicate, seductive, then more and more overbearing. And I, against all logic, cannot resist to that pressing desire that I feel on him.

I don't want to but I feel my stomach twist. That kiss, against all predictions, hits my head. I forget where I am, who I am with, for a moment there are only our mouths looking for each other and I would go on like this for hours.

It's Rick who breaks away, he still holds me in his arms, he no longer needs to force me.

“Are they gone?” I ask, and it sounds stupid but I can't think of anything else to break that tense silence.

“About five minutes ago” he replies full of himself, letting me go once and for all. “And now listen,” he begins, he doesn't seem the least bit shaken as I feel completely drunk. “We don't know what to do with you it's true, but I already told you I won't kill you, and the bracelet was a cheap shot ok, I didn't want you to bullshit. But you have to give yourself a fucking calm down!” he says looking at me out of the corner of his eye as he finally starts the engine.


	6. Day 4 (First Part)

Nobody stopped me when I looked for a free room to lie down and try to rest. I don't want to fall asleep; I already feel quite vulnerable even when I am awake, but tiredness, worsened by my crying fits, makes me lose lucidity.  
Stunned I slip into a room where pink reigns supreme. Pink and Twilight posters, Edward looks at me from almost every wall. It must be the room of Kucklenko's daughter, a teenager obviously very obsessed with ... what was the name of that actor who plays the vampire? It doesn’t matter. I collapse on the bed exhausted and, despite the tension, my eyes close on that stupid dilemma.  
I sleep maybe ten minutes, or ten hours, I don't know. I am awakened by the sound of glass breaking.  
In the darkness I glimpse an armed man who broke into the room breaking the window. Fully awake, I stare at him in horrible déjà-vu.  
He looks at me puzzled; I know what he's thinking, I shouldn't be there.  
And then in a flash I realize I'm a pretty young girl in Kucklenko's daughter's room. Of course I shouldn't be there, I should be in Mauritius, that's why the guy lowers his weapon imperceptibly without knowing how to behave.  
“Rebecca!”  
I am barely aware of the deep voice that seeks me from the corridor, luckily it attracts the man's attention, before he realizes that I am not 15 years old. He turns to the door.  
It swings open and Rick quickly opens fire. The intruder hesitated too much, his body riddled by the blow’s trembles, before falling to the ground. The blood splatters hit me.  
I don't make a sound, shocked by that image, I can't move a muscle. This time it's my fault, it's as if I had killed him. It's my fault because he thought I was someone else and his mistake cost him his life. Only later do I realize that he would have eliminated me without too many pangs of conscience, but I'm not a killer, am I?  
Rick makes sure no one else is around and runs on me.  
“Rebecca are you okay?”  
I look at him but not a syllable comes out, I nod. I'm lying, I'm not well at all, I feel like throwing up, I'm only alive thanks to a misunderstanding and I want to know what's happening again. Everything is happening again is the only thought I can formulate. But there is a difference from three days ago, I'm not alone.  
Holding my hand Rick drags me out of the room, I move my legs as if in a trance. Why did he come to my rescue? It would have been useful if they had taken me out of circulation.  
In the middle of the corridor a mine cuts our way by rolling and stops just in front of us. I look motionless, Rick fortunately not, his quick reflexes save our lives.  
Quickly sends the mine back to the sender and almost at the same time pushes me against the wall and flattens itself against me to shield me, I wish it were enough to prevent me from seeing the slimy bits of human remains that rain down on us. His shot was successful.  
Twice Rick beckons me to stay down and twice knocks down as many armed opponents, moves with determination, cold, calculating. Blood stains everything, patters under our feet as we run towards an indefinite goal. Eventually we reach the stairs, then the living room. There is a sinister silence in the house.  
Frenchie is there, standing unscathed, three lifeless bodies around him, none I recognize.  
“Rick, Rebecca! Thank goodness, I think there is no one left, the others?” I should hear him say relieved. But I don't hear that, I don't hear anything.  
I put a hand to my ear and withdraw it stained with blood.  
Soon the whole gang gathers there, they are all alive.  
The black man has a trickle of blood gushing from his temple, he is supporting India, wounded in the side. Rick steps forward as I collapse on the stairs, looking petrified at the corpses scattered on the floor. My ears still whistle muffled due to the explosion. Absent I observe the gang that begins to argue, I understand it from their gestures, from the angry expressions.  
My hearing softly returns and I finally make out something of the conversation.  
“… here waiting for us to be killed, without even getting his hands dirty. And you don't know shit, why don't you count shit! He just waits for them to kill you too!” says the blond fiercely, shoving Rick.  
But Rick at that point loses his temper and throws himself at him. The blond under the fury of his blows does not even have time to react, lying on the ground I wonder if he is still conscious while Rick rages with his fists. Surprisingly, after a while the blond tries to free himself and manages to spit the blood that invades his mouth in the face of his attacker. Rick at that point stops beating him just to shake his hands around his neck and does not let go, everyone watches motionless, even they are horrified, I'm sure Rick has every intention of going through with it.  
I can't watch that scene, I can't witness something like this without trying to stop it. I have just been the cause of the death of a stranger, I don't want to have another life on my conscience.  
I don't know how I got there either, but I got up and cling to Rick's shoulders.  
“Leave him Rick!” I beg “Leave him!” but I'm not even sure he heard me.  
I grab his forearms and speak between him and his victim, the blond emits ugly strangled noises.  
“RICK!” I scream looking for his eyes and finally he hears me, sees me, lets go. Before he changes his mind, I firmly press my palms on his chest to push him away, Rick doesn't resist, he just looks at me with shortness of breath.  
Suddenly I realize that in that moment, even under his murderous gaze, fortunately not addressed to me, I have no fear of him. Indeed, his eyes seem so lost to me that I would like to remedy that bewilderment.  
“Are you hurt?” he asks absurdly, as if he hadn't just come close to killing a man with his bare hands. I force myself not to turn around to check on the blond, I don't want to bring Rick's attention back to him.  
“I think not” I say softly, I look absently to check.  
Surprise I find myself smeared with blood, but I don't think it's mine. That sight makes me aware of everything that just happened, as I look at my hands, I see that they begin to tremble uncontrollably. I come out of that strange state of apathy in which, I only now realize that, I have moved since I was awakened. Now, while I feel a panic attack rising, I struggle because I feel that I am out of breath.  
Rick grabs me and we take refuge in a random bedroom, or the one that Rick decided to occupy in those days, I'm not sure.  
“Look at me” he pretends “I said look at me ...” he repeats peremptorily since I don't raise my head, at least he has completely regained control.  
He pulls my chin up “Everything will be okay, I promise you” he repeats to me.  
Shaken by the spasms of yet another cry of those nightmarish days, I look away, I cannot bear any longer his eyes.  
“I can't take it anymore” I whimper on his chest letting him comfort me, hug me and hold me. Surprisingly he succeeds, after an indefinite time I calm down. I keep my forehead pressed against him, my breathing returns to normal, aided by his more regular.  
Rick wraps my shoulders and gently pushes me into the room's private bathroom and then into the shower with all my clothes.  
He runs the water and washes away with his caresses all the blood from my face and what is encrusted in my hair. I let myself do everything, I let him do it even when, under the water that slides over me and disappears red in the drain, he wraps my face in his hands and kisses me again.


	7. Day 4 (Second Part)

“ _Allors_ this butter how long does it take?” Frenchie yells at me impatiently. “You know, we Frenchmen don't cook anything without butter!” presses. “My mother always said that this is the secret ingredient of many dishes. If you don't know what that sweet aftertaste is, it's easy, it's butter!” he continues, I feel he is smiling, even the criminals love Mom after all.

I straighten my back to take my head out of the fridge without stopping to slide my gaze on the shelves, in search of that very fundamental secret ingredient, which I still cannot find. I blink, I get foggy more and more often, maybe because I haven't really slept in days.

“But are you sure it's not finished ...” I freeze in place when I feel a body press on mine behind me. I didn't hear him enter and yet I have no doubts about who he is, I recognize him, his step, his breath.

Instinctively I hump my back, shaken by a shiver, while Rick bends down to get a beer from the fridge. I feel his hand steady on my side. He puts the cabbage butter in my hand and walks away without a word. We didn't talk to each other again after he left me in the shower tonight, or better, after we almost got beyond just plain sweet kisses.

Frenchie comes over to snatch the block from my hands “ _Merci_ ” closes the fridge.

Instead I still can't move a step, mentally cursing myself for the effect that made me feel Rick close. Nervous, I rub my hands on the adidas leggings I borrowed from Kucklenko's daughter's closet. Obviously they don't need to be fixed because they are so comfortable, I make a mental note to buy a dozen pairs when all this is over, if I'm still alive.

“You need to relax, listen to me! Sit down, I'll make you some tea”

I wake up and look skeptical Frenchie, as I needlessly pull down my short T-shirt, which I would have gladly done without, but my wet and bloodstained clothes are useless.

“A tea ...” I comment perhaps a little too sourly, but the idea is so ridiculous that I can't help myself.

Five minutes later Frenchie and I are seated at the kitchen counter with two steaming mugs in front of us and a plate full of freshly baked brownies, as if we were two dear friends having a snack.

“So, you're not going to tell me what happened tonight huh _Serge_?!” I ask again as I lift a piece of the chocolate cake and examine it casually. It looks inviting and, although I have had my stomach upset for days, I want to taste it, I end up eating one after the other. I have to admit that Frenchie in the kitchen is doing just fine.

Maybe in the end his idea wasn't all bad, I'm starting to feel really relaxed, very relaxed, like I haven't been in weeks.

Frenchie and I chat quietly, he even manages to make me laugh as he points out how funny our colorful mugs are. Not to mention that square serving dish on which he placed the sweets.

It's true that dish really makes me laugh, a square cabbage dish. I can't stop frolicking and my amused laugh infects Frenchie who follows me closely. Not even Rick's arrival can dampen our hilarity.

He approaches the counter as I look at him absently. My attention is caught by his shirt. Man, that shirt is crazy. With those shades of orange so bright, and the palms do we want to talk about it? They are so realistic. I see their broad leaves swaying, and the surf of the sea, those foamy waves.

I reach out my hand because I want to dip it in salt water, I imagine it warm and pleasant on the skin, but to my annoyance I only bump into Rick's abs.

He bends down to attract my gaze, despite myself I feel like smiling at him, I had never noticed that he had beautiful eyes.

“Fuck Frenchie, she is completely high!” Frenchie doesn't answer, still chuckles.

“I told you to keep an eye on her!” uselessly scolds him.

I don't know who this _she_ he is talking about should be, I don't have time to ask myself because suddenly I'm flying off.

I am flying! I didn't know I was capable of it, why have I never done it? The floor runs under me in reverse.

But on the contrary, it's not pleasant, that's why I usually keep my feet on the ground. My head is spinning, or I straighten up or ...

“I have to land” I tell myself.

“Landing permission granted” grants Rick, I laugh again when he lays me down on the soft cushions of the sofa. It's a beautiful feeling, all that softness hugs me.

The television that turns on as if by magic captures my attention, cartoons run on the screen, I don't catch any of the colorful images that follow each other, but it doesn't matter, I stare spellbound at the screen until my eyes close.

I startled completely confused and stunned, it takes me a moment to think locally about where I am, but I understand that it is late at night and that I must have fallen asleep. The lights are off, the intermittent blue reflections of the television on flash light up the living room.

I am struck when a figure moves on the floor and it does not reassure me at all to see that it is only Rick, with his back resting on the sofa comfortably sprawled on the cushions, the carpet is gone. When the blue light of the TV illuminates him briefly I realize that his eyes are clear, he was not sleeping, I wonder if he ever does.

“I'll give you a tip. Never accept Frenchie-cooked treats, unless of course you intend to get weed. “

The more I wake up, the clearer my mind is. “How long have I slept?” I ask.

“Almost ten hours,” Rick says, while I plan to kill Frenchie as soon as I see him again.

Rick still looks at me, holding my breath as he approaches me.

“I don't know if you're afraid of me. Or do you want me?” he asks me captivatingly, treacherously. His sly eyes scan me as he approaches me a little more, propping himself up against the sofa.

Instinctively I huddle in the soft, furry blanket, a blanket that I don't remember having had before falling asleep.

“I don't know,” I whisper.

And it's true, I don't know. Rick has the gift of confusing me like no one else. He scares me of course, sometimes he acts like a ferocious beast; he pointed a gun at me ready to kill me just three days ago, and he brutally killed more than one man in front of me, and how can I forget that he almost mercilessly strangled one of his own.

But then there is the way he looks at me, as if I were his prey, as if he wanted nothing more. And the kiss in the shower? The way he kissed me… I still remember his fiery lips on mine. Plus, he has that wild charm of the alpha male on me, I think.

I would like to do it again; I mean kissing him.

He's very close now, I feel his rapid breathing on my skin.

“And you don't ask me?” inquires in a hoarse voice.

“Do you want me to ask you if you are afraid of me?! I'm sure you already know,” I reply skeptically.

Rick raises his eyebrows. “If I want you” he says amused, but under the provocative tone I hear him swallow anxiously. “I want you” he adds seriously without waiting for me to ask the question he asks me to make him, he does not need it, I realize that my body is completely stretched towards his, and he has noticed it too.

He grabs me and cancels the distance between our lips. Getting rid of the blanket that divides us, he rises on me and while his hands don't stop caressing me, he takes what he wants. I know the answer to his earlier question, I want him too.

**Author's Note:**

> Corner of the author:
> 
> Welcome!  
> If you are expecting to read about any Super in this story I have to disappoint you right away, Vought and Supers belong to the future as far as I'm concerned.  
> I figured Becca and Billy had met even before he started his career in the CIA and before she graduated.  
> For the plot and info, I only referred to the first season, plus a few small details from the second, but I can say that it does not contain spoilers, so in case you haven't seen it you can rest assured. Hoping you like it, as always, I invite you to let me know.
> 
> That's just how we met ITA https://efpfanfic.net/viewstory.php?sid=3937686&i=1


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